


Powder & Fuse

by tristinai



Series: Worse Decisions [1]
Category: Detroit: Become Human (Video Game)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Gangsters, Anal Sex, Blow Jobs, Bottom!RK900, Drug Addiction, Gangster!Gavin, Human AU, Human!RK900, Infidelity, M/M, Manipulation, Narcotics, Recreational Drug Use, Smut, hankcon - Freeform, power top!Gavin, reed900
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-21
Updated: 2020-09-21
Packaged: 2021-03-08 01:21:34
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 12,023
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26577493
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tristinai/pseuds/tristinai
Summary: With Elijah Kamski behind bars and refusing to talk, the DPD send Detective Richard Stern undercover in hopes of infiltrating Kamski’s drug ring. Stern’s task? Get close to Kamski’s brother, mobster Gavin Reed, and find a way to bring down their operation.
Relationships: Upgraded Connor | RK900/Gavin Reed
Series: Worse Decisions [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1963867
Comments: 46
Kudos: 133





	Powder & Fuse

**Author's Note:**

> An AU of an AU. Anyone who is familiar with the Bad Decisions series can think of this as a "What if?" one-shot where Nines is a detective and Gavin a mobster. However, if you have not read Bad Decisions, this also works as a stand alone. Please heed the warnings before reading.

_I told them this was useless,_ Richard thinks, struggling to hold back a frown.

He leans against the bar, finishing his shot of whiskey. His hands are still shaking and no amount of liquid courage will calm his nerves. He hates night clubs, hates the overpowering smell of cheap cologne that barely masks the sweat. Bodies grinding against each other, moving in time to music he has no hope of ever recognizing. He’d much rather unwind at home with a glass of wine and the soothing sound of jazz playing at a volume that doesn’t threaten to blow out his ear drums.

Sneaking glances at the VIP lounge above, disappointment leaves a sinking sensation in his chest. His target, local mobster Gavin Reed, is smirking as the brunette beside him whispers in his ear. They’ve been sitting close together since the younger man was pulled off the dance floor minutes before, catching the gangster’s eye after doing a provocative dance on one of the raised platforms. With his chiseled jawline and strong but lean frame, it was easy to see _how_ he caught Gavin’s attention, meeting all the physical requirements of what the DPD has deemed the gangster’s ‘type’; in other words, the same requirements that Richard Stern is supposed to be meeting as he tries to draw Gavin’s attention to him.

“Why aren’t _you_ the one they’re sending?” Richard had complained to Connor. “You and I are practically identical.”

“I don’t like this anymore than you do,” Connor said. Worry etched the frown lines that appeared on his face and Richard knew that look better than he liked to admit: Connor didn’t like that they were sending Richard to a place where he would be surrounded by the worst of his vices. “But Hank and I have our hands full investigating the connection between the Kamski family and Cyberlife. And right now, we can’t get Chloe to talk to us.”

It’s been frustrating and that frustration was written all over Connor’s face, the elder Stern twin looking as if he hadn’t had a good night’s sleep in months. Richard could think of some other reasons why _that_ may be but he wasn’t about to get into the details of Connor’s overnight case work with Anderson: Anderson and his wife were going through a rough patch in their marriage and that’s more than Richard gave a shit to know. If Connor chose to spend his nights watching Hank drink an entire bar as the lieutenant avoided what waited for him at home, well, that was his brother’s business and not Rich’s. It didn’t change that the pair had made no progress with their investigation. Cyberlife was being uncooperative and their CEO, Chloe Weber, refused to comment on her relationship with Elijah Kamski.

“But you’re better at this. You know I don’t do well with...people.”

Just thinking of what he was expected to do made Richard want to request returning to his old department. Why in the hell was he in narcotics anyway? He’s shit with people and misses homicide. Dead bodies don’t talk but Richard’s always been good at studying them and unveiling their stories. He half wonders what the point was in Anderson bringing him on the Kamski Case when Richard had been doing just fine in his department.

“You’ll be fine, Rich,” Connor said, clapping his brother on the shoulder. His smile was warm and that only proved Richard’s point: Connor’s good at reading people, encouraging them, getting them to feel and do what he wanted. Richard, on the other hand, had about as much charisma as a dead fish. “You fit the profile. And it’s not as if _you_ have to do the talking: Reed’s got an ego as big as Kamski’s. If you get him talking about himself, good luck getting him to stop.”

That was the plan: get close and get Reed to say anything incriminating that will push their investigation forward. Names, locations—hell, Richard would take the name of the mobster’s barber if it means someone else they can manipulate into telling them _something._

“Just...promise me you’ll be careful,” Connor said, leaning in close and keeping his voice just above a whisper. He didn’t have to say what he meant: Richard knew. The amount of things he could snort and inject in Reed’s club would make every moment spent in there a battle against his worst behavior. Again, why Richard _shouldn’t_ be working in narcotics but out of respect for his privacy, Connor hadn’t informed Anderson why he had been against bringing Richard onto the case. “The second you feel...tempted, you get out of there. Got it?”

“ _That_ is the least of my concerns,” Richard scoffed, “I’m more offended they expect me to bat my eyes and act like a mindless imbecile. _You_ , on the other hand, have a natural talent for that.”

“You’re an ass,” Connor said, elbowing him. It eased his concerns and Richard felt relieved that instead of one of Connor’s infamous lectures, his twin was now grinning. “You got this, Rich. Remember: just keep him talking.”

Great advice. _If_ Richard can even get the man’s attention. But, as Richard finishes another shot of whiskey, he’s seeing that window of opportunity close. Gavin’s latest toy is sliding his hand up the gangster’s thigh, the smile on his lips charming in all the ways Richard isn’t. Just what Richard needs: another blow to his self-esteem when he goes into work tomorrow and declares this evening a complete and utter failure.

Fuck. Why isn’t the alcohol hitting him yet?!

Gavin’s eyes dart to his and Richard fumbles the glass he’s holding. The intensity of that cocky stare shouldn’t unnerve him but it does as Gavin’s lips pull in a lazy, arrogant smirk.

The shot glass slips from Richard’s fingers, shattering near his feet.

Gavin chuckles and then his attention is brought back to his ‘date’ as the other man begins kissing him. Richard can’t explain why but something about all this is not only humiliating but also, infuriating.

_Fuck_ _this_.

“Hey!” the bartender shouts over the music.

Richard slams a twenty dollar bill on the sticky bar. “To replace the glass.”

He knows he doesn’t need to pay—don’t most bars charge their employees unfairly for the stupidity of the customers?—but even if Richard’s known to be a bit of an asshole, he’s not _that_ much of an asshole. And he’s definitely not one to fold over and accept defeat.

It’s time to turn the tables.

Rolling up his sleeves, Richard begins weaving his way through the bodies, heading for the unoccupied platform directly in Gavin’s line of vision. He ruffles his hair, the tips of which begin to curl as they fall out of their gelled coif. By the time he’s reached the mini-stage, he’s undone the first few buttons of his fitted shirt and looks indistinguishable from the rest of the men in here trying to go for the ‘sexy-and-I-damn-well-know-I-am-and-don’t-care’ look in hopes of getting laid. Richard is above such games but that doesn’t mean his target is.

_I know_ **exactly** _what kind of man you’re looking for,_ he thinks.

With the alcohol beginning to take its effect, Richard steps onto the raised platform and begins by swaying to the music. EDM. He’s not quite sure what he should be doing and the fact that he can’t stand this kind of music doesn’t help. He looks to the few brave clubbers who are dancing on the other stages, one or two gyrating around their poles and the others pointedly avoiding them. Hmm. Maybe he shouldn’t be focused so much on what everyone else is doing but on what he _can_ do.

Gripping the pole with his elbow, he spins around it twice. A quick glance to the second floor and he sees Gavin isn’t watching.

Better step up his game.

Right arm raised, he does another rotation. As he picks up momentum, he extends his back legs. It’s simple but powerful, the ease at which he performs the spin coming from his years of gymnastics and from what little he recalls from the pole dance classes he took a few years. His mother had scoffed at him and Connor teased him but Richard had wanted to quickly build his core strength and found the classes useful back when he was at the police academy. Now, he enters into one of the old routines he used to practice: Peter Pan, Pirouette, Chair Spin, Back Hook, and ending with a deadlift. Suspended upside down with his legs spread and pointed in a perfect V, Richard hears some of the people near the stage catcalling. He’d grip the pole with his legs if he could but he’s wearing far too much clothing for that. So instead, he touches back down, pirouettes once more around the pole, and then falls back against it with a confident smirk. A pair of gray eyes meet his. Richard’s heart pounds and he can’t say it’s only from the exertion of the lift after being so out of practice.

Gavin pushes the man who’s kissing his neck away and then waves over one of his bodyguards, whispering to the bulky man and pointing at Richard.

_Game on._

And that is how, not ten minutes later, Richard finds himself at the top of the stairs, the bodyguard stopping him before he turns to Gavin.

“This the guy, boss?”

Gavin smirks. “Yeah, that’s him. Maybe this one will be more fun than the last prick you sent up here.”

He waves Richard over no differently than one would wave over a dog. Richard immediately bristles.

_Do it and keep your mouth shut,_ he has to tell himself.

Richard’s known for telling people exactly what he thinks of them. It’s part of that ‘lack of charm’ that often gets him in trouble. If it’s not his anxiety kicking his panic response into gear, it’s his short temper hitting the FIGHT button like he’s mashing the attack key on a video game controller. He’s come too far to fuck up now.

Richard approaches, stopping a few feet in front of Gavin when the gangster raises his palm. The cockiness of it makes Richard’s hand itch to slap it away.

“Give me a twirl, sweetheart.”

... _SWEETHEART?!_

Richard colors and he can’t say it’s only from anger. Gavin indicates with his finger for Richard to spin and Richard has to force back a glare. He’s not some monkey who will dance for this asshole at the snap of his fingers.

_Gain the target’s trust._

That’s the mission. That’s all he has to do. Get close enough and get Gavin talking.

Swallowing every vicious retort sitting on the tip of his tongue, Richard feels his blush spread to his ears as he does a small spin for Gavin. He feels the way those eyes drink in the sight of him, follow the firm lines of his body and it’s easily the most humiliated and exposed Richard’s felt in a long while.

As he finishes his spin, Richard expects Gavin to fold and invite him into his booth. Instead, the gangster scoffs and gives a shake of his head.

“Fuck, you’re as boring as the last one,” Gavin grumbles. “You always let fuckers you don’t know order you around like a little lap dog?”

“Have you not considered that my submission is simply a facade to get to where I want to be?” Richard asks, frostily. He’s toeing the truth of his assignment for the evening and doesn’t give a shit, not when this prick’s talking down to him. “Tread carefully, or you will find that my bite is significantly more deadly than my bark.”

Gavin stares at him and from the corner of his eye, Richard sees the bodyguard scowl.

... _shit!_

Of course, Richard’s temper comes out at the absolute worst moment. He can just picture Connor as Richard enters tomorrow’s briefing. One look at his face and Connor will sigh, “What did you say _this time_ to piss off the target?”

Maybe Richard has a bit of a habit of doing that…

Just as Richard thinks he’s going to be booted from the VIP lounge, Gavin chuckles, waving off the bodyguard before he can escort Richard back to the first floor. With a grin, Gavin pats the booth beside him. Not one to let his guard down so easy, Richard eyes the empty spot before carefully seating himself beside the other man.

“So, you’ve heard of me?”

Richard doesn’t miss a beat, flicking his eyes in what he hopes is ‘demurely’ at the gangster. He still can’t quite keep the ice out of his voice. “You are Gavin Reed, are you not? The owner of this club? I should hope the man occupying the only decent booth in this place would be its proprietor.”

“And here I was hoping you’d heard of me for _other_ reasons,” Gavin says, with a cocky smirk. Richard could roll his eyes at how full of himself the man is. Instead, the next words out of Gavin’s mouth leave the detective blushing. “You gotta name, sweetheart?”

“I’m _not_ your ‘sweetheart’,” Richard hisses, his face feeling incredibly hot. How...how dare he call him that! “Nor am I ‘sweet’.”

Gavin laughs, a loud, throaty laugh that makes Richard’s stomach flip, for reasons that have absolutely _nothing_ to do with how Gavin’s eyes crinkle when he’s amused. “Fuck, you’re cute. And before you gimme that death glare and tell me you’re not, maybe gimme a fucking name so I don’t need to keep calling you ‘sweetheart’.”

Richard snaps his mouth shut, Gavin taking the words right out of his mouth. He’s only been in the man’s presence for a few minutes and already, the target seems to have him figured out while Richard’s learned _nothing_ , except that Reed evidently has a death wish. He has to if he’s going to keep flirting with Richard ignorant of Richard’s low tolerance for bullshit.

“You’re going to have to do a lot better than your indolent attempts at flirtation if you want that information,” Richard answers.

“You know my name, I should know yours,” Gavin retorts, that ever-present smirk only growing more obnoxious. Richard can’t decide if he wants it to smack it off the gangster’s face or find other ways to distract the asshole’s lips so he’ll stop giving Richard that smug look. “You fucking pretty boys always come to me wanting _one thing_ and I’m happy to give it. But I like to know who the fuck I’m dealing with.”

The challenge is there as Gavin’s tone goes from playful to tense. Richard’s never been that good at reading people until he’s put on the spot, much like when he’s in an interrogation room and sizing up a perp. But in Gavin’s presence, the roles are reversed and Richard’s the one being scrutinized, studied. He’s got to tread carefully.

“I am not like the other imbeciles you entertain yourself with,” Richard says, smoothly. “I will not give you what you want simply to satisfy your ego.”

It’s a gamble, one that has Richard holding his breath even as he wears a disinterested expression. Gavin reacts with a frown, eyes narrowing as he stares directly at Richard. It’s intimidating but Richard doesn’t waver, despite the wild hammering in his chest.

Just as he’s convinced he’s crossed the line, a slow grin appears on Gavin’s face. The gangster chuckles and Richard finally releases that breath he’s been holding. Leaning right into Richard’s personal space, Gavin eyes the detective appreciatively, his gray eyes pausing to drink in the bit of chest exposed from the button’s left undone. Whether intentional or not, Richard watches Gavin wet his lower lip and desire stirs hot in the detective’s abdomen, making blood flow to places he’d much rather they not go.

He isn’t attracted to his target. He’s _not._

He tells himself he’s not disappointed as Gavin retrieves his drink from the table and reclines back, his wolfish gaze never once leaving Richard’s face. Not even as he sips from his Old Fashioned.

“Guess I’m gonna have to call you whatever the fuck I feel like,” Gavin says. He finishes his drink and then places the empty glass on the table. “You gotta boyfriend or somethin? Some asshole who’s gonna come gunning for me?”

“Nothing you need concern yourself with.”

“Playing hard to get? Or do you get off on being so fucking difficult?”

“You said you didn’t want me to bore you like the last one,” Richard snaps, playing up being irritated. But at this point, he’s not really faking it. “If you continue your line of questioning, _I’m_ the one who’s going to get bored and leave.”

“Fuuuuck, you’re a prick,” Gavin answers, with a laugh. “Lighten the fuck up, Nines: I’m just fucking with you.”

Nines?! What in the hell…?

“ _That_ is not even a name.”

“Would you rather I call you ‘sweetheart’?”

...is it possible to murder someone for being this irritating? Richard’s always written off the homicides where spouses seemed to be provoked by the most mundane behaviors as an instance of unpredictable irrationality. But the longer he spends in Gavin’s presence, the more he’s beginning to understand what made them want to kill their partners.

“Why ‘Nines’?”

Not that Richard really cares. But maybe getting some insight into how this idiot thinks will help him choose a better approach than ‘piss off the man whose brother’s sitting in prison for attempted murder’.

“You’re dressed to the nines. Fuck, you’re overdressed,” Gavin says, smirking. He tugs at the sleeve rolled up at Richard’s elbow. “This is the kinda shit you wear to a wedding or funeral; not a nightclub. How the fuck are you not boiling in it?”

Richard swats Gavin’s hand away. “ _That_ is Versace and I’d appreciate it if you’d stop pawing at the fabric.”

Gavin’s eyes darken, irises practically disappearing at the hunger shining in them. It makes Richard’s mouth suddenly feel very dry. “The last prick who did that lost his hand.”

A thrill creeps down Richard’s spine. He should be terrified. If he’s honest with himself, he sort of is. But there’s something about the threat that makes him want to push, to see how far he can take this. It goes against everything he was advised to do but fuck, Richard’s been going off script and it’s worked better than playing the role of moon-eyed clubber looking to score some blow and dick.

“Then lucky for me I’m prettier than ‘the last prick’ who pissed you off.”

Amused, Gavin sits back. “Let’s see if I’ve got you pegged: you won’t give me your name, which means you’re being fucked by some asshole you don’t wanna cross. You like expensive things. And besides being pretty, you’re kind of a fucking dick. Fuck, you know who the fuck I am and you don’t give two shits about pissing me off. You’ve either gotta death wish or you’re really fucking stupid.”

“Has the thought not crossed your mind that perhaps I like my men like I like my drugs?” Richard asks, sidling closer to Gavin. His hand slides up Gavin’s thigh with the kind of confidence he never knew he had. He’s never this forward with anyone but playing the role of ‘Nines’ has made him into someone else, the kind of asshole who can go toe-to-toe with Gavin Reed. Cupping him, Richard’s more satisfied than he wants to admit at feeling Gavin’s erection straining against his jeans. “Hard.”

He whispers the word against Gavin’s ear, rewarded with a low growl as Gavin turns his head, grips the back of Richard’s neck and tugs his face closer. The smell of Gavin’s cologne, his touch on Richard’s skin...it leaves Richard aching in a way he hasn’t for so long, he’s forgotten what this feels like.

_More,_ his skin screams.

“You should stay the fuck away from the hard stuff,” Gavin whispers, his words deep and husky. His lips ghost against Richard’s and Richard silently wills him to close the distance because even if Richard acts like he’s tough shit, he doesn’t have the fucking guts to do it. “That stuff will fuck with you, sweetheart.”

Richard can’t even be mad at that annoying pet name, not when Gavin’s gripping the hand cupping him and pulling it off his dick. But instead of releasing Richard’s wrist, Gavin guides his hand and coaxes Richard into snaking his hand beneath the hem of Gavin’s jeans. Richard should be pulling back his hand and sneering at Gavin but even as his face heats, he lets the gangster unbuckle his own jeans, making it easier for Richard to fondle him over his underwear. There’s a fucking bodyguard right _there_ and Richard must have finally lost his goddamn mind because instead of seducing Gavin, _he’s_ the one being seduced and now he’s sitting in an open booth with his hand down the gangster’s pants.

...what in the fuck is he doing?!

“I’ve got the only hard thing you need right here,” Gavin says.

He kisses the corner of Richard’s mouth, a soft, chaste kiss. It’s only a taste of what Gavin has to offer and if Richard wasn’t sitting there like a damn moron, staring wide-eyed at Gavin’s mouth, he’d do _something_ to satisfy that growing need that’s blurring all those thick lines he drew in the sand. _Don’t fuck around with the man you’re investigating!_ Sound advice. But in that moment, all Richard’s brain can do is tell that sensible voice to _Shut the fuck up!_

“You gonna say something, gorgeous, or you just gonna keep giving me that doe-eyed stare?”

Richard snaps out of whatever trance he’s in, ripping his hand out of Gavin’s pants. The asshole’s laughing at him and all Richard can do is fight the deep blush that’s crept its way down his neck. He wonders if it’s possible to die of humiliation because nothing can be more embarrassing than making a fool of himself in front of an audience. Sure, the body guard doesn’t even glance their way and everyone down below is so high on MDMA that nobody’s looked up but...fuck, what kind of undercover detective goes into the club of the asshole he’s investigating and let’s said asshole talk him into some groping?!

“I am not so desperate for attention that I will allow you to make a spectacle of me in front of an audience,” Richard hisses. He hopes it comes off more obnoxious than whiny.

“Hey, Lou, turn around!” Gavin calls to the body guard. “This one’s shy!”

Gavin’s still laughing as Richard folds his arms over his chest, more than a little insulted. “Hardly. Is it so wrong that I would prefer a little _privacy_?”

Gavin stops laughing at that, giving Richard that same ravenous look he’d given him earlier. Scooting a bit closer to him, Gavin gently takes Richard’s jaw in his hand, Richard’s skin tingling at the feather-light touch. It’s everything Gavin’s not: soft in contrast to the roughness of the scars on Gavin’s face, gentle in a way he’d never expect the gangster to be. It’s making Richard question everything he’d assumed about Gavin when constructing a profile on him.

“And why is it that you _want_ a little privacy?” Gavin whispers. The cocky bastard wants Richard to say it. “You saying you’re not having fun up here with me, sweetheart?”

Gorgeous. Sweetheart. Nines.

If the asshole starts calling him ‘doll’ or ‘babe’, Richard’s going to smack him and storm off instead of enduring these stupid pet names. At least, that’s what Richard tells himself as he ignores the flip his stomach does every time Gavin says one of them.

“Is it not obvious?” Richard says, his voice dropping a decibel. This close to Gavin, it’s not like either of them have to shout above the annoying club music. “You’re more interesting than the morons down there. If you weren’t, why am I still sitting here in spite of your...crass attempts at seducing me?”

A strange look passes over Gavin’s face as he studies Richard’s. Richard is far better than Connor when it comes to his resting bitch face and he plays it up now, hoping that by not giving anything away, Gavin will stay intrigued.

_Get him alone, away from all this,_ Richard thinks. _Then we’ll see how quickly I can manipulate him into giving me something._

That’s the new plan. Because so far, Richard’s been able to read _nothing_ off of Gavin.

“Funny,” Gavin starts, pulling his hand from Richard’s face. Richard ignores the urge to lean back in, this yearning for Gavin’s touch not as unpleasant as he would otherwise expect. “You’re saying _I’m_ the one who needs to keep _you_ interested when you’ve spent all fucking night staring at me from the bar.”

... _SHIT!_

Richard tries not to let the panic show on his face.

“I remember thinking, ‘Who the fuck’s that douche glaring at every prick who looks at him?’,” Gavin continues. “Fuck, if I didn’t know better, I’d think you were FBI or some shit. You looked like you were staking out some of my boys down there and I don’t need no agents in here ruining everyone’s fucking night.”

_SHIT SHIT SHIT!_

“But no FBI agent’s stupid enough to let me put his hand down my pants,” Gavin says, with a smirk. “If you were a fucking agent, you’d probably slap some handcuffs on me and haul me in for sexual harassment. And hey, if you got handcuffs, I’m fucking game but I’m not about to fuck around with the feds.”

“Interesting theory,” Richard says, forcing his voice to remain cool, “do you always insult every man who wants to blow you?”

“You never said you were gonna.”

Richard colors. “Was it not implied?”

“If you’re offering, I’m not gonna say ‘no’,” Gavin says, grabbing Richard’s arm and tugging him close. His lips catch the edge of Richard’s jaw and Richard should be pushing him away but instead, he’s stifling a sound as Gavin presses soft kisses to his skin, his hand sliding up Richard’s arm and resting on his bicep. Gavin’s lips are once more ghosting against Richard’s, each word he utters a whisper against Richard’s flesh. “But let’s get one thing straight, babe: you’re here because _you_ want to be here. And me? I’m always happy to oblige a pretty fucking face.”

It should piss him off more than it does. In fact, it does piss him off that Gavin’s this fucking full of himself but fuck if it’s not working. Richard hasn’t fucked anyone in months and to be both desired but also treated like he’s just a pretty convenience is good enough that Richard will take it.

Denied for long enough, Richard kisses Gavin roughly, a hungry groan buried in his throat as Gavin kisses him back. It’s hotter than the way anyone’s kissed Richard in a long time and Richard can’t be sure if the burn of Gavin’s stubble or the way he confidently claims Richard’s mouth that makes it so different. The last few people Richard hooked up with were all women and they seemed to expect _him_ to take charge, something that he’s always done awkwardly. It’s perhaps why he’s preferred his flings with men: the ones he gets are always happy to fuck him or give him the reins when the mood strikes him.

But with Gavin, there is no question: Gavin’s so high on how much he _knows_ Richard wants him, the only way Richard’s going to be calling any shots is to tell Gavin how he wants to be taken. And fuck, does Richard want it, want Gavin more than he’s wanted anyone in so god damn long, it makes his balls sore just to think about it. Richard’s never been one to seek out sex until he’s gone so long without it, it becomes an itch that needs scratching.

Fuck, does he want to get scratched.

“You ready to go some place private, Nines?” Gavin pants against his lips.

His cheeks flare at Gavin’s chosen nickname for him.

“Yes,” Richard finds himself saying, before he can stop himself.

And that’s how he finds himself in a private room at the back of the club, pinned against the back of a sofa as Gavin works open the buttons of Richard’s shirt. Gavin’s scent is intoxicating, the way his lips claim every inch of skin he exposes driving away Richard’s good sense. Richard’s quickly forgetting _why_ he wanted to come back here as Gavin slides the shirt off Richard’s shoulder and kisses his way up Richard’s neck. That Versace Richard had snootily protected not twenty minutes earlier ends up on the floor.

“Fuck, you’re pretty,” Gavin murmurs, thumbing at one of Richard’s pert nipples.

Richard preens a little upon hearing that. His last few hookups were nowhere near as vocal about _what_ they thought of him, instead anticipating he would be the one telling them what they wanted to hear. But Gavin’s _different_ and though Richard can imagine Gavin’s used to feeding lines to the handsome men he beds, there’s something almost reverent in the way he traces the lines of Richard’s pectorals. Like he can’t believe he gets to touch someone like Richard.

_Why? What’s so special about me?_ Richard could ask.

But if he detects a moment of vulnerability, it passes as Gavin drags his teeth over Richard’s ear lobe, pulling at the flesh. His hand feels Richard through his fitted pants and when Gavin realizes how big and _hard_ Richard’s gotten, he releases a tiny ‘ _fuck’_.

“Jesus Christ, sweetheart, how much are you packing?” Gavin asks.

His breathless laugh makes Richard feel more self-conscious than Richard wants to admit. His face growing hot, he turns his head away from Gavin’s rough lips but ends up biting back a small moan as Gavin massages him. Fuck, he’s overdue for a good fuck. “Can’t you tell or is your judgment that impaired?”

“Keep giving me lip like that and I’m gonna start calling you ‘Dick’,” Gavin jokes.

Richard freezes. He hates that nickname but it’s what some of his coworkers call him, particularly the ones who can’t stand him. Hearing Gavin say it reminds him there’s a reason he’s back here.

Gavin doesn’t notice the change. Or if he does, he ignores it as he nuzzles at Richard’s neck. Richard needs to start getting personal with Gavin but it’s incredibly difficult to keep his mind on the mission when Gavin’s groping his dick.

“Or maybe I’ll start calling you that because you’re more ‘dick’ than ‘asshole’,” Gavin continues, his voice thick with arousal. The words he utters tickle as they fall against Richard’s neck. “Not gonna lie, I don’t like to bend over for you pretty boys but I wouldn’t mind having my ass pounded by this. Fucking hung like a horse.”

Richard knows his face is burning even hotter than it was out in the club. It’s not like he hasn’t heard lines like this before. But the few times he has are so far in between that it always makes him feel like a wallflower when someone expresses... _appreciation_ for his size.

Pushing away from Gavin, Richard paces around the small space, pretending to show interest in it. “This is a nice...room.”

There really isn’t much to it: the sofa, some comfortable seats...a large, flat screen mounted on the wall. A bar in a corner that Richard has little doubt is fully stocked. His eyes fall to the coffee table, his voice trailing as he sees the lines of coke that have already been cut. Temptation curls hot in his chest, his blood awakened by those bad habits that a few stints in rehab barely managed to kick. He needs to get out of this room, away from Gavin, before he indulges in behavior he knows he’s going to regret.

“Help yourself,” Gavin says, indicating to the table.

He smirks—a smirk that has warning bells flaring in Richard’s head—and walks to the bar to pour both of them tumblers of whiskey.

Richard has to say _No._ He must ignore satisfying that urge that’s become a near physical ache as he eyes the white powder. But though he knows what he must do, his mind is stuck on two words:

_Help yourself._

An invitation.

So Nines flops down on the couch, his trembling fingers reaching for one of the rolled up bills. That voice of reason he needs to obey is drowned out by the siren’s call of temptation, poisoning his good judgment. Lining the bill up with one of the tracks, Richard succumbs to it.

The high is immediate, a hunger that’s plagued Richard for nearly two years now sated as the drug enters his system. The numbness is familiar, one that was always welcomed whenever he had to deal with people early in his days at the DPD. He’s never been able to explain what it is about cocaine that makes everything _easier._ Like the things that make him anxious became _manageable_ while under the influence of the stimulant. Even now, he relaxes in a way that he hasn’t in a long time as he releases a gentle sigh and sits back on the sofa.

“Hope you like it ‘neat’,” Gavin says, handing Richard a drink.

The tips of his fingers brush Richard’s in the hand-off, the euphoria from Richard’s high enhancing every sensation. He rarely recalls it ever being this intense but having gone so long without it makes everything seem more crisp, enhanced. He throws back his drink, barely tasting the alcohol when it hits his mouth, and all but tosses the tumbler back on the table as he roughly pulls Gavin into his lap. Splashes of whiskey hit Richard’s chest, Gavin chuckling against Richard’s mouth. He must put his glass somewhere because he’s soon gripping Richard by his shoulders, the gangster’s other hand resting on the back of the detective’s neck. Smirking, Gavin whispers, “You’re more fun when you take that stick outta your ass,” and then kisses him so wantonly, it leaves Richard’s toes curling.

“Are you not having any?” Richard asks, when Gavin begins sucking on his neck.

Richard’s supposed to be doing something. Fuck...what was it? But it’s hard to think straight with the way Gavin’s lips and teeth tease his flesh.

“Never touch the stuff,” Gavin says and continues to mark Richard’s neck.

That’s when the guilt hits because Richard isn’t strong enough to say ‘No’. He could wallow in it, a voice that sounds suspiciously like Connor’s mentally reprimanding him on every mistake he’s made in the past hour. But it’s hard to reflect on his lapse in judgment when Gavin begins grinding down on his cock. With a small gasp, Richard rolls his hips up for more of that friction, clumsily trying to rid Gavin of his t-shirt. He’s sure his movements are sloppy but riding the euphoria that hits his system makes everything feel smooth.

“Let me help you with that.”

Gavin peels his shirt off and Richard eyes the thick, hard lines of muscle exposed for his gaze to feast on. Those broad shoulders and beefy arms have no right staying hidden and he wonders how he missed what lay beneath Gavin’s shirt when he was sizing up the gangster earlier. The scars that litter his chest only add to the rugged charm of his appearance and Richard isn’t able to resist running his hands over every one he finds. He imagines some of these can be traced back to Gavin’s criminal record, the brief times he spent in prison after some of his altercations. That less forgiving side of Richard now wishes Gavin had done worse to the people who’ve harmed him.

“Like what you see?”

The question catches Richard off guard who, in spite of finally being at ease in Gavin’s presence, can’t help but be the difficult bastard he is. “I suppose you are ‘adequate’.”

With a growl, Gavin flips them, tugging Richard into his lap. That wolfish grin is sexier than it has any right to be. “Adequate? You better not be saying that shit when my dick is in you.”

He ruts up against Richard’s ass and Richard makes a sound that definitely tarnishes the cold prick act he’s been playing up. Falling forward, he gives a breathy whine when Gavin starts nipping along his collarbone. He’s finally feeling that buzz he’s been waiting for all night, lightheaded off whiskey and the way Gavin’s touching him. He moves his jaw and tries to grind his teeth but he can’t even be sure if he’s doing it, his senses so deliciously fucked up, he’s riding on self-medicated ecstasy. He leans back on Gavin’s lap, his eyes fluttering closed as Gavin gently brushes aside some of Richard’s sweaty locks. When he opens his eyes, he sees Gavin gazing at him with those gorgeous, lust-blown eyes.

“Still not gonna give me your name, gorgeous?”

Taking Gavin’s hand, Richard nibbles on the inside of his wrist. He then slowly and wantonly drags his tongue across Gavin’s pulse point, never once breaking eye contact. Gavin, much like himself, must know _exactly_ what Richard wants to do with his tongue. “If I say ‘Nines’, will that placate you?”

A look that Richard can’t describe as anything other than possessive appears on Gavin’s face. Perhaps it’s because Richard’s using the nickname the gangster _chose_ but it seems to arouse him even more.

“I’ll call you whatever the fuck you want me to call you, babe,” Gavin whispers roughly, his free hand popping open his jeans, “so long as you don’t stop doing that shit with your tongue.”

Richard chuckles and then proceeds to suck on the same spot he had licked. The impatient glare he receives from Gavin makes the teasing worth it. “Like this?”

“You know that’s not what I want you to be sucking,” Gavin growls.

Richard releases Gavin’s wrist and darts his gaze downward, feigning disinterest as he sees the bulge tenting the gangster’s underwear. In truth, he never goes down on anyone he’s not well-acquainted with. He’s not about to put his mouth on someone’s dick or pussy until he can assess the risk of performing unprotected oral as few things are more embarrassing than picking up antibiotics for an infection he got from someone whose first name he can’t even remember. But Richard’s already barreling down that slippery slope of bad decisions and it’s been long enough since he’s sucked dick that his prevailing thought is, _Fuck it, why not?_

He slides to the floor, parting Gavin’s thighs with a smirk. Gavin’s eyeing Richard as if he’s the most attractive man he’s ever seen and the attention alone is enough to boost Richard’s confidence. If he’s honest with himself, he wouldn’t have the balls to do this without blow because sucking dick has never been something he feels he’s all that great at.

Gavin’s cock’s already out, his jeans and underwear pulled down just enough for Richard to go right to work. Even knowing how huge Richard is doesn’t deter that cocky grin Gavin’s wearing as he says, “You gonna keep staring at it, babe, or you waiting for an invitation?”

“Impatience will _not_ get you what you want,” Richard hisses.

Still, he grabs the base of Gavin’s cock, every witty comment suddenly trapped in his dry throat. Gavin’s got nothing on Richard’s length, but the girth of him has Richard shivering as he imagines how filled he’s going to feel once he has Gavin inside of him. Fixing his half-lidded gaze on the glistening head, Richard subconsciously wets his lips.

Fingers slide gently in Richard’s hair and when he glances up at Gavin, he’s surprised at the soft look Gavin’s giving him. “If, uh, you don’t want to...”

There’s something almost too _honest,_ too _vulnerable_ , about the way Gavin’s looking at him. And right now, Richard wants neither honesty nor vulnerability.

“A piece of advice, Reed,” Richard says, with a smirk, “don’t be so self-deprecating. It’s not a good look on you.”

And then he swipes his tongue up the slit, rewarded with a gentle shudder from Gavin. The fingers tangled in Richard’s hair grip tightly and Richard flicks his gaze upward to meet Gavin’s mesmerized stare. The high he gets from Gavin’s undivided attention makes the last of Richard’s trepidation disappear.

“F-Fucking prick,” Gavin gasps, rutting his hips up for more contact.

Richard pulls back, pumping the base of Gavin’s cock with his fist. At the dirty look he receives, Richard smiles none too innocently. “I think I preferred it when you were calling me ‘sweetheart’.”

“Ain’t nothing sweet about you fucking teasing me,” Gavin complains. He tugs Richard’s head closer and Richard obliges, mouthing at the head of Gavin’s dick. “Fuuuuuuck.”

Richard absently registers the bitter taste of Gavin’s precum, moaning as he catches a few more drops that dribble from the weeping tip. He circles his tongue around the head, licks and then flattens it as he drags it up the length of Gavin’s shaft. He’s not sure why but cock always tastes better on blow, perhaps because he’s not constantly second guessing everything he’s doing. Relaxing his jaw, he slowly takes Gavin between his lips, sliding his head down until he has half of Gavin’s dick in his mouth. Then, he starts sucking.

“Christ,” Gavin gasps.

The numbness at the back of his mouth makes it easier for Richard to take in this much. He knows his gag reflex is shit and he’d be choking already, if not for the drug. As he flicks his eyes back to Gavin, he’s pleased to see a look of pure bliss on Gavin’s face, the gangster’s lips parted as he groans beneath his breath. But it won’t satisfy Richard to simply _see_ how much Gavin’s enjoying this—he wants to also _hear_ him.

So Richard begins to hum. Nothing in particular, simply to make enough noise that Gavin can feel the vibrations coming from his throat. The name, ‘ _Nines’_ spills from Gavin’s lips as he tries to buck up further into Richard’s throat, his fingers tugging insistently at Richard’s hair. Emboldened, Richard releases Gavin’s shaft, letting Gavin guide his head as he bobs on the gangster’s cock. The roughness at which he’s being handled has blood rushing below his waist and Richard’s so hard, he can’t stop himself from rubbing his own dick through his jeans. He’s breathing heavily through his nose, ignoring the growing discomfort as Gavin thrusts up into his mouth. Saliva coats his chin, caking Gavin’s dick and dripping down to the gangster’s balls and Richard knows he must look like some ravenous cockslut desperate to be eating cum but fuck if that’s not true when Gavin’s got him on his knees like this.

“Fuck,” Gavin groans, rolling his hips up and pushing Richard’s head down, “y-you’re so good, babe. S-So fucking...”

Gavin does that again, more insistently and Richard’s not sure why but something about the force and the angle suddenly has him choking. With his weak gag reflex and allowing Gavin to set the pace, it was inevitable that Richard was going to end up embarrassing himself. Before he knows it, his eyes water and he starts coughing violently and Gavin has no choice but to pull him off his dick. As Richard has his coughing fit, he doesn’t realize Gavin’s holding him until his gasps subside and he can hear the apologies Gavin’s uttering.

“Fuck, sorry, babe. I’m so fucking sorry—”

Unable to face him, Richard extricates himself from Gavin’s embrace. Dizzily, he glances around for _something_ , anything to make the sting of his inexperience more bearable. A million thoughts race through his brain but he can’t navigate through them, can’t think of a single self-deprecating remark to put either of them at ease. But that shouldn’t surprise him: Richard’s never been good at self-deprecation, though he’s mastered everything from frigid prick to pitiful.

His eyes fall to the remaining line of coke and Richard’s bent over and snorting it before he can give it any critical thought. He wipes the powder from his nose and when he sees Gavin eyeing him with what may be shock, Richard’s in the gangster’s lap, kissing him. He’s so high he can’t bring himself to give a shit about fucking up the blowjob, tonguing the inside of Gavin’s mouth as he runs his hands over Gavin’s arms. When he has no choice but to break the kiss for some much needed air, he pants, “Fuck me,” with a desperate whine and is met with a heated look that leaves his blood running hotter than the cocaine in his system.

“Take these off and get on the table,” Gavin murmurs.

Richard does as he’s told, turning with his back to Gavin as he removes the rest of his clothes. He then crawls up on the coffee table, having no choice but to prostrate himself along the length of it. Besides the bit of powder dusting its surface, there’s only their whiskey tumblers and a bottle of lube. It seems Gavin had planned this.

“That’s rather presumptuous,” Richard says, as Gavin takes the bottle.

His condescending tone has Gavin cocking a brow at him.

With a smile that’s anything but innocent, the gangster gives Richard’s ass a gentle smack. Richard shivers. “The only guys coming back here are the ones getting fucked. Makes things easier.”

Richard can’t explain why but he doesn’t like the image that paints. His overactive imagination pictures men handsomer than himself, kissing Gavin, groaning when the gangster touches them, bent over and getting fucked…

Gavin must notice the frown on his face because he’s suddenly laughing. “Don’t tell me you’re fucking jealous.”

“I’m _not_ ,” Richard says, defensively. He sniffs, despite not being able to feel his nose. “Is it so wrong to _want_ your undivided attention?”

“Then don’t make conversation ‘bout the shit you don’t wanna be thinking about, sweetheart,” Gavin retorts. He presses a lubed finger to Richard’s asshole, making the detective shudder. “You really doubting you have my ‘undivided attention’ after choking on my cock?”

Humiliated, Richard doesn’t respond. But as Gavin buries his finger halfway inside Richard, Richard gives a low gasp, his hands gripping the table tightly. Fuck, has he missed this. “Christ, you’re tight. No wonder you’re such an asshole.”

Gavin’s swallowing a pleased sound in his throat, most likely refusing to indulge Richard. But Richard loves how Gavin’s voice wavers with want, even if he won’t acknowledge it. “This would go faster without your— _ah!..._ commentary.”

He arches as Gavin pushes his finger the rest of the way, the gentle burn of it anything but unwelcome. “Quit bitching. You fucking _love_ it.”

Richard can’t argue that, his head falling to the table as Gavin begins pumping his finger in and out of him. It feels _good_ and Richard fights to bite back the moans he’s making, telling himself it’s simply the coke that has him reacting like this. Sex is always easier when he’s high because then he doesn’t have to navigate awkward conversations and he gives less of a shit when he inevitably embarrasses himself. Like now, as he’s pushing back against Gavin’s hand and all but begging for Gavin to add another finger, to fuck into him _harder_. He shouldn’t give anyone as obnoxious as that asshole the satisfaction of knowing they have this much power over him but all Richard cares about is getting a dick in him.

“You ready for more, babe?” Gavin teases.

If Richard wasn’t bent over, he’d be tempted to slap the smug asshole.

“Would you hurry.”

But even as Richard tries to sound bored, his voice shakes with impatient need. He nearly cries in relief as Gavin pushes another finger into him, the stretch causing him to quiver. He shuts his eyes, taking in the sensation, groaning when Gavin pulls out and thrusts his fingers back in. He’s careful at first but seems to have no trouble reading what Richard wants as he begins pushing in more roughly, burying his fingers in deep. When he begins to scissor them, Richard stops giving a shit about holding back and moans Gavin’s name. Encouraged, Gavin does it again.

“Knew you’re a loud one,” Gavin says, chuckling.

Richard’s cries are muffled by his arm, rocking back each time Gavin thrusts back in. When Gavin reaches around and starts stroking him, Richard’s knees nearly give out and he arches sharply, his chest and cheek pressed to the table’s surface. He doesn’t register the third finger Gavin’s added until it’s fully inside of him and there’s a discomfiting pressure as his body resists the intrusion. But once Gavin starts moving them, brushing them against that intimate spot deep inside of Richard, that uncomfortable feeling becomes an insistent need that only gets more urgent the more Gavin strokes him. Richard’s already racing to the edge, teetering on the precipice, when Gavin’s hands stop touching him.

Shakily, Richard glances over his shoulder, ready to snap at Gavin. But his mouth dries as he sees Gavin biting his lower lip, swallowing a moan as he rolls a condom on his thick cock. It’s so goddamn hot, Richard doesn’t care that Gavin has left him a whimpering, quivering mess. Not as long as he _finally_ gets filled.

“Scoot back a bit,” Gavin orders. His voice is thick with need, eyes dark as rakes his gaze over Richard. That more selfish side of Richard wants to think that he’s the only one Gavin’s ever looked at with such hunger.

Richard obeys, crawling back until his knees are at the table’s edge and his ass is arched into the air. With one hand on Richard’s hip and the other holding his dick, Gavin lines himself up. Richard holds his breath as he feels the tip against his entrance, expecting that uncomfortable push at any moment. It always feels like that at first, Richard’s inexperience so limited, he can count the number of times he’s done this in the last five years on one hand. But once he overcomes that initial discomfort, it’ll be worth it.

To his shock, though, nothing’s happening.

“You don’t do this a lot, huh?”

That catches him off guard.

“If this is your way of prying into my previous experience, perhaps you should have done that _before_ we started this,” Richard says, icily.

But like the previous times he’s responded with ire, it only seems to amuse the other man.

“Lighten the fuck up, Nines,” Gavin retorts, the mirth in his tone combined with that strange nickname Gavin gave him making Richard deflate, “and I fucking mean that: you’re so goddamn tense, there’s no way this is gonna feel nice.”

_Oh._

Richard suddenly feels like a moron for assuming Gavin was judging him.

“Relax, sweetheart, and let me do the rest.”

Richard does as Gavin tells him, the tension easing from his shoulders as he releases a shaky breath. He’s running on the last fumes of his self-induced high and it’s the only thing keeping him from wanting to panic at how out of his element this all is. He’s _never_ developed an attraction to anyone he’s investigating, much less the pieces of shit who have turned Detroit into a playground for their worst intentions. He should be repulsed by Gavin acting like he’s tough shit and that the rules don’t apply to him. Richard _should_ detest him but as the tip of of Gavin’s cock pushes past that first ring of resistance, everything Richard should be feeling is quickly forgotten.

Fuck.

... _fuuuuuuck_ …

“Fuck,” Gavin moans, stopping before he’s a third of the way in. It burns. Fuck, does it burn. “You’re really, fucking _tight_.”

He wavers on that word and Richard’s heart pounds at the approval in Gavin’s voice. Sure, it’s a little painful but Richard’s always been able to take a little pain, sometimes indulging his darker whims when he has the right partner. The kind of discomfort he’s enduring as Gavin slowly pushes in is the kind Richard wants more of.

When Gavin’s all the way in, he pauses yet again. That sense of being filled leaves a strange heaviness inside in Richard, one that he can’t say he dislikes. Gavin’s giving him time to adjust and the gentleness at which he regards Richard, stroking Richard’s sides and uttering soft words of encouragement, seem like such a sharp contrast to the gangster’s demeanor. Richard would expect Gavin to be rougher than the denim scraping the back of his thighs, the gangster still in his pants—but if he’s waiting for Gavin to let his uncouth colors show, his expectations fly out of the window when Gavin plants a series of kisses along Richard’s back. The tenderness of it makes Richard’s eyes unexpectedly misty.

No one, not even the few men who have fucked him in the past, have shown Richard this much consideration once his clothes are off.

Pulling out, Gavin’s careful as he thrusts back in, a soft groan spilling from his lips. Warmth coils inside of him as Richard hears the sounds Gavin makes. There’s a kind of power that comes with knowing he can make Gavin this shameless for him, this willing to ease the reins of control as Gavin abandons it in favor of indulging in Richard. Each time Gavin buries himself deep, it feels _better_ , the way Richard’s body squeezes around Gavin’s cock a welcome pressure that Richard relishes with wanton gasps of his own. And fuck, does he want _more._

“Fuck, you’re so good, baby,” Gavin groans, picking up the pace. He thrusts in harder, the table shaking beneath Richard. “You’re so fucking _good._ ”

A tumbler rolls to the floor. The other spills on the table but Richard barely notes the splashes of alcohol as Gavin fucks him harder. He’s already got coke on his knees, what’s a little alcohol?

“G-Gavin,” Richard moans, pushing back to meet each of Gavin’s thrusts. He’s getting heady off the way Gavin’s moving inside him, an ache building in his balls as he craves the kind of release only Gavin can give him. As Gavin hits that spot, colors explode behind Richard’s eyes and he keens forward, drool dribbling from his parted lips as he whines into the table. “Ah, Gavin...”

Richard’s close, on the edge of something wonderful but all together terrifying as he realizes: he doesn’t want to be another conquest, wants Gavin to remember him as the one who makes him feel this _good_ , who can make him feel better than the other pretty faces who catch his eye. Richard can’t explain it: he just _wants_ to be remembered for something, anything other than the socially awkward disaster he usually is.

Richard _wants._ And if life has taught him anything, the world is cruelest to those who _want._

“Oh fuck, babe,” Gavin groans, slamming into Richard hard. He hits that spot, again and again, and Richard can’t take it, can’t hold on. “Oh fuck, oh fuck...Nines...”

He can’t be certain _why_ but that name is the final push, Richard whining as he cums. Spots dance behind his closed eyes as he spills hard, some of it hitting his chest but most of it ending up on the table. Gavin milks him clean, pumping his sensitive cock until Richard’s so empty, it becomes incredibly uncomfortable. The pained whimper he makes has Gavin releasing him, fingers digging into Richard’s hips as Gavin pounds into him. Within moments, Gavin’s grunting Richard’s nickname, tensing and then finally, cumming.

Panting heavily, Richard fights to regain his breath, the table shaking a few more times as Gavin thrusts weakly. It’s somewhat anti-climatic for him and not nearly as rewarding as it would be if Gavin wasn’t wearing the condom. Richard’s days of risky sex were well-connected with his addiction and he’s lucky that the worst he walked away with was an easily treatable infection after one weekend of bingeing on everything he could snort or inject. It may be reckless but Richard wishes Gavin came inside of him as nothing beats that moment someone spills hot while balls deep in his ass.

Pulling out of him, Gavin drops on the leather sofa, sitting back with an arm thrown over his eyes and breathing hard. Richard tiredly sits up, his head spinning from moving too quickly. He gives a small groan, waits for everything to come back into focus. Before he knows it, he’s being pulled onto the couch by Gavin, the gangster kissing him tenderly. A hand cradles Richard’s cheek and when the kiss breaks, he sees Gavin’s soft gaze on him.

“Fucking gorgeous,” Gavin whispers.

Richard’s pulse races as Gavin swipes aside his sweaty bangs. He can’t get enough of how Gavin’s looking at him.

“You’re not so bad yourself,” Richard says.

Gavin smirks. “You always give half-assed compliments?”

“I’ll give you a proper one once you’ve earned it.”

He can’t explain why but the ease at which they banter is something he relishes. Maybe it’s simply nice that Richard can be himself and Gavin doesn’t seem to get that offended. Richard doesn’t have to perform the mental gymnastics of telling Gavin what he wants to hear: he can speak his mind and Gavin will either meet him barb-for-barb or keep up the pretense.

And it’s all a pretense, as Richard has to guiltily remind himself. He’s in. He’s got Gavin in a vulnerable state.

Time to fish for anything to further the investigation.

“What’s it gonna take for me to ‘earn it’?” Gavin asks, cocking a brow. “I just fucked your brains out. You saying that’s not good enough for some goddamn praise?”

Richard doesn’t need a reminder, the slight soreness as he shifts on the sofa confirming what Gavin’s claiming. Yes, it was good: the best he’s had in forever. But Richard would rather swallow his own tongue than let Gavin know just how good it was.

“If you want my approval, I may require more time to assess your performance,” Richard quips. He traces his fingers tantalizingly over Gavin’s abs, flicking his half-lidded gaze demurely across Gavin’s torso. Time to see if Gavin buys the act hook, line, and sinker. “I hear you have ‘friends’ who throw some rather wild parties. Perhaps, if you let me know where you’ll be this weekend, I might be there, too, and I can continue to... _assess_ your performance.”

He needs names. Locations. _Anything_ to bring back to the DPD in the morning. None of their informants are talking, too terrified to cross Kamski, and the only chance they’ve got is using Gavin’s attraction to Richard to get them one foot into Kamski’s inner circle.

A look Richard’s unable to read crosses Gavin’s face. Richard doesn’t know why but it leaves a sick sensation in his chest.

“Uh, yeah, sure,” Gavin says, scooting away from Richard. “Just, uh, let me get cleaned up and I’ll give you the deets.”

Before Richard can respond, Gavin’s entering what Richard assumes is a bathroom, shutting the door behind him.

Sitting on the sofa’s edge, Richard exhales heavily and drops his head to his hands. He fucked up. He knows he did. He was too forward and now Gavin’s not going to see him again. He tells himself the only reason he feels disappointed is because it means he failed to do the one thing he was assigned.

_Get close to him. No one ever said anything about getting fucked by him._

Why does that reprimanding voice always sound like Connor’s?

A door opens and Richard doesn’t bother looking up, still mentally berating himself for what he said. He expects at any moment that Gavin’s going to make some shitty excuse about being tired and kick him out. And right now, with his imminent failure weighing over him, Richard doesn’t know if he can handle having to look at someone in the eyes as they reject him.

Something clicks.

Richard freezes.

“You must think you’re really fucking clever pulling this shit on me,” Gavin says. He’s fully dressed, looming over Richard and armed. When did he get the gun?! Better yet, why the fuck did Richard let his guard down?!

Though the words are spoken quietly, Gavin’s voice shakes with anger.

Richard’s heart beats wildly in his chest, his eyes darting to the gun being pointed at him. Of all the things he expected Gavin to say, _this_ was certainly not one of them.

“I have no clue what you’re—”

“Shut the fuck up!” Gavin snaps and Richard does, not at all trusting the wild look in the gangster’s eyes. “You goddamn shut your fucking mouth unless I tell you to fucking speak or I’m pulling this fucking trigger! Got it?”

Richard stares at the gun, the barrel only inches from his face. The DPD has only speculated on Gavin’s involvement with the recent body pulled out of the river—a known child sex offender who is thought to have double-crossed Kamski. In some ways, it makes Richard sick to think that their investigation currently hinges on whether or not they can prove Kamski had something to do with the pedophile’s death. No one has ruled out that Reed may just be as capable of killing and dismembering someone.

Slowly, Richard nods.

“You got one chance—one fucking _chance—_ to tell me the fucking truth,” Gavin says, a forced calm in his voice. He narrows his eyes and glares at Richard. “Who are you and why the fuck are you here?”

Richard hesitates. His mind races for the best way to placate Gavin, to get him to lower the gun.

“Gavin,” Richard starts, “I don’t know _what_ you think is going on but I have _nothing_ to do with whatever that is! My name’s Nicholas Kaine, I’m a paralegal—”

He swallows a grunt as Gavin strikes him with the handle of his gun. Blood drips from one of his nostrils and Richard knows it’s going to leave an ugly bruise on the right side of his face. Luckily, he can barely feel it right now.

“Enough of your bullshit! You really think I wouldn’t recognize the fucker who arrested Eli?!”

... _what?!_

Though fighting to not let his panic show, Richard can’t help but stare at Gavin bewildered. He never arrested Elijah Kamski. Kamski was already in custody when they slapped those foul play charges on him from the body they fished out of the river. That means, Gavin thinks—

“Detective Connor _fucking_ Stern,” Gavin sneers. “Yeah, that’s right: I did a little digging on the prick who brought in Eli. You’re their little ‘star’ detective after you helped Anderson bust that red ice ring a few years back. Gotta say, you two are pretty high on everyone’s shit list. You don’t know how fucking long we’ve wanted to roast you pigs.”

Richard should try to play dumb but now he’s more than a little annoyed. Why does everyone _always_ think he’s Connor?!

“Reed, you’re a fucking _idiot_ ,” Richard snaps. “I’m not Connor—!”

Gavin fires the gun and despite the silencer, the sound is enough that Richard wisely decides to shut his mouth. The bullet lodged in the sofa’s cushion is a reminder not to fuck with the gangster.

“Is this how fucking desperate the DPD is?!” Gavin shouts at him. “Eli and our boys won’t say _shit_ , so those fuckers send _you_ to try and get something outta me? Fucking Christ, I knew you’d do _anything_ to make a name for yourself—and don’t think I know fuck all about you fucking around with Anderson—but did you really think letting me fuck you was gonna get me to talk?!”

As Gavin’s saying this, Richard swears, for a brief moment, that the gangster looks _hurt_ at being used. But then his expression hardens and Richard can’t be sure if he’s reading more into Gavin’s anger beyond rage at Richard’s failed deception.

Wait...what was that part about Connor ‘fucking around’ with Anderson!?

“You’ve got this all wrong! The DPD did not—!”

“I don’t fucking care!” Gavin shouts above Richard’s protests, pressing the gun roughly to Richard’s forehead. Feeling the cold metal against his skin, Richard snaps his mouth closed, his heart beating so fast, he can’t be sure if he would sooner expect it to explode or burst out of his chest. The icy realization that this may be it leaves him frozen on the spot. “I don’t give a shit about _you_ or your fucking excuses!”

As ridiculous as it to admit to himself, Richard can’t help but be somewhat hurt by Gavin’s words. But maybe he should be used to meaning _nothing_ to anyone.

“When I’m through with you, your fucking cop buddies are gonna need more than goddamn dental records to ID your fucking corpse!”

Gavin’s finger begins to squeeze the trigger and all Richard can do is watch as every mistakes he’s made in the last few hours flashes before his eyes. So, this is how he’s gonna go: naked and high on cocaine. If he’s honest, he’s not all that surprised that this is how he burns out.

Eyes fluttering closed, Richard waits for the bullet to rip through his skull. In those final moments, he silently hopes that Connor isn’t the one to find his body.

When he’s certain more than a minute’s passed, Richard cautiously opens his eyes. Gavin’s grip on the gun falters.

...Why isn’t he pulling the trigger?

“Puh-kah,” Gavin says, mimicking the sound of the gun firing. He then laughs mockingly, stepping back and holstering the gun while all Richard can do is stare at him in shock. Nothing about any of this is making sense to him.

“You know what? I’m not in the business of killing cops: if Anderson’s favorite pet goes missing, all your boys in blue are gonna come sniffing around my club and I don’t need that shit on me,” Gavin says, with a shrug. “That old fuck’s been gunning for us for years; I ain’t giving that prick an excuse to throw my ass in prison, too.”

Richard releases the breath he hadn’t realized he was holding, eyes his discarded clothing that’s strewn around the room. He could charge at Gavin, knock him out, and then hastily grab his things and get the fuck out of here. He may not have to but he’s not about to rule out any of his options.

“You’re letting me leave?”

He glances suspiciously at Gavin. He definitely doesn’t trust the smirk the gangster’s wearing.

“Why the fuck not? You were _fun_ and hey, I like a fun guy as much as every other fucker looking to get his dick wet,” Gavin answers, his grin becoming sinister. He indicates to the screen and Richard’s stomach drops as he notices the blinking light. “You were so fucking fun, I made some ‘memories’ because...well, what’s that old saying? ‘Take a picture, it lasts longer’? So I thought: why not a whole fucking video?”

Picking up Richard’s pants, Gavin throws them into the detective’s lap. Then, bending down and leaning in close, Gavin sneers in Richard’s face, “You got ten fucking minutes to get your shit and get the fuck outta my club. And if I catch _you_ or any of your buddies around here again, I’m posting our little sex tape all over social media. Bet the public would love to see how their tax dollars are going up your fucking nose.”

Without so much as a backwards glance, Gavin storms out, slamming the door behind him. All Richard can do is stare in shock. It takes moments for him to shake off his disbelief and his eyes dart once more across the room at the screen.

...fuck.

* * *

After a night of restless sleep, and the worst comedown he’s had in years, Richard moodily trudges into the kitchen, slamming through the cupboards and angrily jabbing at the espresso machine. He’s anxious as shit, anticipating that at any moment, his phone will blow up with angry calls from work or a million voice messages from Connor demanding to know what the hell he was thinking last night. His head’s pounding, hands shaking, and all Richard can think is how much he wants cocaine. Or something a bit harder to make this all stop. For now, he’ll have to settle for caffeine.

Luckily, Connor’s not at home and Richard’s not due at the DPD for another few hours. That gives him time to calm down and get his story straight. The bruising around his nose will make it easier to sell when he tells them his cover was blown and Gavin’s goons threw him out of the club. All the other details, well…

What they don’t know certainly won’t hurt them.

As Richard sips at his espresso, the buzzing of his phone snaps him from his thoughts. With a violent pounding in his chest, he hesitantly picks it up. Dread settles in the pit of his stomach as he sees the notification: _Unknown Sender._

He puts his phone down, ignores it. But then it buzzes. Again and again.

Finally, unable to torture himself further as his mind runs with the possibilities, each getting more wild than the next, he picks his phone back up and unlocks the screen.

[Unknown Sender May 03 09:12 AM]

_sum memories ;)_

The first is a video capture of Richard snorting coke. The next is with Richard kissing Gavin. As Richard scrolls through the rest presumably sent by Gavin, they become more graphic and Richard is so disgusted with himself, he can’t bring himself to look at the remaining ‘evidence’ Gavin has sent. However, just as he’s about to slam his phone down on the counter, another message comes in:

[Unknown Sender May 03 09:14 AM]

_u try n fuck with me again n ur jobs not the only thing u gotta worry bout_

[Unknown Sender May 03 09:15 AM]

_bet mrs andersons gunna wanna c these_

Pictures. But not of him: it’s Connor and Anderson. The first is of the pair in the parking lot of the DPD, kissing against Anderson’s car. The next, just outside a seedy motel, Anderson entering the key code to get into one of the rooms while Connor glances somewhere off, maybe sensing he’s being watched. Another of the two, more difficult to make out, but that looks to be the backseat of Connor’s car—

Richard colors and actually does slam the phone down. There are some things he’d much rather _not_ think about Connor doing and right now, he’s tempted to set his head on fire and see if it’s possible to physically burn the images from his brain.

But even worse: he lives with Connor. And Connor’s having a fucking _affair_ with Anderson?! How in the fuck did he miss it?!

_Connor, what in the hell have you gotten yourself into?_ Richard thinks, angrily.

So...Gavin’s got someone tailing after Anderson. Richard presumes it’s Anderson and not Connor because then the moron would have realized Connor has a nearly identical twin. But Richard’s frustrations aside, this doesn’t change that Gavin knows Anderson’s messing around with Connor and is not only ready to ruin ‘Connor’s’ life by releasing that sex tape Richard unknowingly partook in but is also going to drag Anderson down with them. All because Richard’s a fucking idiot for letting his old habits blind him from doing his goddamn job.

Unable to take the vicious pounding in his head, Richard violently chucks the mug he’s drinking from into the kitchen sink. Porcelain shatters but all he hears is the shattering of everything he’s worked for, everything he’s overcome, unraveled in one evening of shitty choices. His blood sings for some relief and he knows he’s going to succumb again, even as that tiny voice of reason warns him of the storm on the horizon.

To put it bluntly: Richard is really _fucked._


End file.
